Hearing her name called, each of them got her face ready, smoothed her hair, and, standing, adjusted her long skirt at the waist using both hands. Those who had brought a hat put it on and those without gave a little flair to their scarves before swaying out the door, smiling and provocative, knowing that they would cause a sensation and enflame the appetite of the men who packed the courtroom, many of whom had patiently endured the claustrophobic conditions for hours just to see Elvira's girls. The girls knew that the magistrates and functionaries of the court awaited them no less eagerly than the spectators in the gallery, to say nothing of the guards and police officers who gently escorted them the short distance to the witness stand, offering them an arm, walking very close, and breathing with flared nostrils the whole way, subjugated by the presence of their defenseless, disquieting flesh.

And what a commotion they caused when they stepped into the court room! A wave passed through the male audience in the gallery, and a lesser, but still perceptible, movement could be observed among the members of the tribunal on the platform at the front of the room. A general phosphorescence smoldered in the eyes of old and young, married and single. A tangible, palpitating desire was visible on the faces of all of them as the prostitutes appeared, one by one, to take the witness stand. There stood each to give her testimony, resolutely, holding herself erect behind the varnished wooden bars of its railing, where she lowered her head scarf to make sure that her corseted bust stood out clearly, showing the provocative protuberances of the captive breasts that seemed about to escape from the low-cut blouse. Each put one hand on her round hip and used the other to gesture or take hold of the railing, her eyes surveying the entire courtroom, a slightly smiling expression of triumph or disdain playing over her face and lips, apparently (but not truly) indicative of supreme self assurance, seemingly full of promise to each of so many eager spectators, but promising nothing specific to any of them. Each awaited questioning with an expectant, placid, and innocent look, feigning ignorance in spite of all the sordid things that each of them had seen in her time.

The commotion reached its apogee when Santa presented herself. The chill had passed, but her physiognomy still recalled it, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, with pronounced dark circles beneath them, as if she had wept copiously and recently, making them look even larger than usual.

The entire courtroom, including functionaries, jury, and audience, was sick of the proceedings. For ten or eleven hours, they had sat uncomfortably, stealing out occasionally to smoke a cigarette or drink a glass of water, and now they were starving, dying to talk and move around, get out of that choking atmosphere stinking of sweat, bad breath, and the fumes of candles and oil lamps. They knew by heart every detail of the evidence. The accused, who initially had inspired sympathy in some, now elicited universal abomination. When was this trial going to be over? Let the fellow be absolved or convicted, but get it over with! The attitude of the entire assembly implored relief. Heads rested on chair backs or against the wall. One of the defense attorneys leaned forward on his desk, drawing pictures of animals and houses, and the court reporter seemed to doze, his elbow on the judge's desk, covering his closed eyes with his hand, as if screening them from the light. The judge himself watched a guard yawn and struggled not to do so himself, drumming with his fingertips on the desk and practically pulling his mustache off, so incessantly did he stroke it. Only the accused murderer remained grave, concentrated, and unblinking, curved forward on his backless bench with his arms crossed on his chest, feeling the apparatus of justice tug disconcertingly at his hide.